January 31, 2007

-image-because nightfly asked

and I likes me The Nightfly.

In honor of that angel face Barbaro’s recent passing, another look at my insane panda rage.

I was home alone on a Saturday when that happened, too.

Weird things

happen

when I’m alone.

January 30, 2007

-image-thrown out of hogwarts for sure

Daniel Radcliffe, aka Harry Potter, is starring in Peter Shaffer’s Equus in London. He gets nekkid and parents are upset — because Harry Potter’s a role model, you see.

Parents, please. Calm thyselves. Are your little kids even going to see this play? I mean, they probably shouldn’t. It’s not for little kids; it’s for adults. And, by the way, why is HARRY POTTER, a fictional character, a role model for your kids? How about YOU being their role model? I mean, for instance. Or some other real live person? And if you’re gonna get all pissed off because he’s naked in the play — uhm — read the play. You might as well know everything. After all, wouldn’t want you to miss out on the full expression of your outrage that some actor playing a part is letting your little Timmy down.

“There is now, in my mouth, this sharp chain. And it never comes out.”

Man. I need to read this play again.

-image-thank you note

“Dear Tee Tee & Uncle (Beloved),

Thank you for the tea set and the glitter pens. You are so great and I love you so much. You’re the greatest of all.

Piper”

This was in the mail yesterday. We’d given Piper a little espresso “suitcase” for Christmas — two tiny espresso cups and saucers, two tiny spoons, all decorated with sprightly French girls, walking their dogs, riding their scooters — and she just FLIPPED for it. We told her it was for “tea.” After that, she spent the whole afternoon walking around with her tea suitcase, sitting with it, hugging it. She simply could not be parted with this new infusion of girliness into her life. She asked my sister, “Mama, do we have any tea?” My sister said no. (Uhm, dear heart, could you please get up and LOOK at least?) So I got up and started rummaging around in the pantry cupboard and — TA DA! — tea. Not the greatest tea, it was some kind of apple spice tea, but Piper didn’t care. She was, you know, “so escited.” As usual.

So I heated some water and made us tea. Then I took some of the chocolate muffins a neighbor had brought over and sliced them into small, tea-cake sized pieces, explaining to Piper that when you have “tea,” you have tiny little cakes and sandwiches that you eat, too. Her eyes were big as saucers, “Really?” “Yup, it’s gonna be good, huh?” “YEAH, Tee Tee!”

Once everything was poured and ready, we sat down and I watched her closely. I watched my niece — who daily has to play rough and tumble with her big brothers as a necessity of survival — suddenly transform into this proper young lady who drinks tea. I mean, she sipped daintily at her cup; she raised a pinky; she changed her voice, calling me “dahling” and “madam” in a vague British accent; she took delicate bites of chocolate muffin — muffin that, just a few hours before, I’d seen smeared all over her flushed and shining cheeks. I didn’t model any of this behavior. She just started doing it. The tea, frankly, tasted flat and old, probably because it was, but she just sipped and murmured with her face close to the cup, “Oooh, Tee Tee. This is soo delicious.”

And it really was, you know?

-image-“rest in peace, angel face”??

So Barbaro is dead. Okay. That’s sad. Whatever.

But I found myself howling with laughter last night when I heard a reporter on the news actually announce, in a reverent tone, “Barbaro had a last meal of grass.”

A last meal of grass? REALLY?? Who’da thunk it? A horse ate grass? No hamburgers for the condemned’s “last meal”? No blueberry pancakes? Grass? I am astonished! And did the condemned get to make a final statement before he bit the dust? Sheesh. Calm down, people. It’s a horse. Stop trying to make him human. Stop writing him love letters, like this:

“To my dearest Barbaro, rest in peace angel face. You are pain free now. You fought bravely. Now your spirit will run free. I will love you forever.”

I got that letter from this article.

Here’s another excerpt:

How many think Barbaro was heroic, or just doing what his human handlers wanted him to do? Or, had no choice what he was doing after being anesthetized? If we’re going to start looking upon horses as if they have human qualities, then shouldn’t we stop sticking a bit in their mouths, tying their tongues in place before races, gelding or loading them with steroids?

There is no question some people began to look upon this animal, though, as a creature with human qualities, but all indications are he went to his grave withholding comment about what he was trying to accomplish the last few months.

Hahaha. It’s a sad thing, yes, but keep it in perspective, people.

January 29, 2007

-image-sometimes you’re bored on saturdays

You know, sometimes your husband is out on a video shoot all day of a Saturday. And sometimes you’re kinda bored. And maybe there are piles and piles of baskets and cups and coffee and sweeteners and every possible whatnot shoved in every corner of your teeny little townhouse. So maybe you go a little stir crazy from crawling over and around and through the crushing, visible evidence of your utter insanity. And maybe you’ve drunk a bit too much coffee because God knows you’ve got a lot of THAT now. So maybe — just maybe — the boredom and the lonely and the caffeine and the crazy all combine to make you — oh, I don’t know — push a heavy rattan chair off its wobbly stack and up a flight of narrow and sharp flagstone stairs. And maybe, later that same day, your husband comes home asking about your day and you are vague and blase. Then maybe he stands at the bottom of the stairs and gazes up at the landing where the giant rattan chair is now stuck and looks down at you and says …. slowly …. drily:

“Uhm, is there anything else you want to tell me about your day?”

You know, maybe.

diedrchair.jpg

Guess I can’t be left alone, either.

January 27, 2007

-image-closed for business

The Beanhouse, almost all cleaned out, so forlorn.

(Sorry for the pics — camera phone and bad use of lighting on the photographer’s part, ahem.)

I now own those hanging stained glass lights.

diedr3.jpg

I need to pick up these big ol’ plants this weekend.

diedr1.jpg

diedr4.jpg

The patio, empty of furniture — uhm, because I bought that, too. But people are still showing up to sit, even in their own beach chairs. Makes my heart ache, the loneliness here. These are just three random people I watched from a distance. They were not together; they were just sitting, completely separate, at the place that used to be their place.

diedr2z.jpg

January 26, 2007

-image-I am being neglectful

Because of the tiredness and insanity, remember.

Okay. I’m gonna give you a little somethin’-somethin’. Ready?

THE NAME OF THE WEE WEE-EST COFFEHOUSE IN THE WEST IS:

(Duhduh da DAAA!)

Boheme Coffee

(Pronounced “Bo-em,” but you all knew that, I’m sure. 😉 )

Remember that it’s the gay/hippie/but I-think-I’m-veddy-veddy cultured neighborhood, so I wanted something a little gay and hippie but veddy veddy cultured.

(Secretly, I still pine for Surly’s. That will be its name deep in my dark and cave-like heart.)

So … TA DAAAA! Or BLAH BLAAAAH! Or whatevvvvs!

January 24, 2007

-image-can’t … must … later

So very very tired. Beanhouse closed yesterday. Moving day today. Bought whole damn store. Now crawling over bags of coffee and random tables. Can’t live in home anymore. Must go outside and find place to sleep. Now.

So very very tired and insane. Mostly insane.

More later.

Just look at pictures again.

January 23, 2007

-image-oh, you precious bad dog

The shame in this dog’s posture is killing me. There he is, just awaiting his doom. I think I love him.

baddog1.jpg

From Cute Overload.

-image-you will never get over this

I cannot get past the cats’ expressions. I just CANNOT.

dogcat.jpg

Also from Cute Overload.

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